I nod and shut the door. Talking is the first step in figuring out what the hell I want next, though.
Walking inside the house¸ it’s huge. The ceilings are high and the space is large, but it’s clean. There are no empty food boxes, or mail sitting on the counter.
“You live here?’ I question, surveying the place.
“Sometimes. Not often, though,” Landon admits, tossing the keys on the counter.
Walking into the kitchen, there is a white tiled island with matching counters behind it, stainless steel appliances of the best quality placed accordingly. I explore the space, venturing into the living area. A massive U-shaped couch made up of white cushions occupies the space, a large TV placed on the wall in front of it and a fireplace beneath that.
To the left of the living room is nothing but windows and a sliding glass door. Looking through, I see little twinkling lights from the city as the sky starts to cloud over. My eyes trail to the right of the room and find wooden stairs. I make my way up them, Landon following behind me.
I pass more windows and closed doors, my eyes set on the one door that’s open at the end of the hall. Entering, I find a large bed with white sheets, and a large floor-to-ceiling window in front of it overlooking the city of Vegas from afar. It’s like this house is tucked out of the eye of Vegas, just watching from its own safety. There are shelves lined with books, and of course a TV directly across from the bed.
I sit on the bed, the blanket so cushioned I sink. I vaguely smell Landon’s freshness and spice waft around me from the fabric.
He’s staring at me, the intensity making me shift uncomfortably. I slowly trail my tongue along my bottom lip and risk looking at him. He’s squatting, his elbows resting on his jean-clad thighs. His face is unreadable as he pins me where I sit.
“What?” I whisper.
“Charlie, I don’t even know where to start.” He looks down and blows out a tired breath. I shrug and purse my lips.
“You can start with why you killed my mother,” I suggest, my tone coming off snappier than I intended. Landon’s brows furrow, his jaw ticking as he takes in what I said.
“Your mother, Maria, was a turning point in my life,” he starts, his eyes leveling with mine. “Growing up, I envied my father. He had power, control, money, and women at his feet. He was like a king. There was nothing he couldn’t have and not a damn thing he couldn’t talk himself out of.” Landon’s face turns hard as he points to his chest. “I wanted that. I wanted to be on top. I wanted to be the king of the estate.”
He shakes his head and looks at the wall. “Roman and I fought about who it would be. Who father would chose to reign over the estate. Every Blackwell gets the throne until one of his heirs proves to be of quality. Hell, Roman and I couldn’t piss without making it a competition.” He chuckles and looks at me, but I don’t laugh.
“What does this have to do with my mother?” I ask, irritated, my fingers clawing at the sheets in anger.
“Your mother was one of our escorts, Charlie. One of the best, actually. She was very quiet, didn’t give much detail about her life, and my father had his sights on her. My father cheated on my mother regularly, but it didn’t seem to bother her so it didn’t bother me. I think she had her own partaking in cheating, but I’m not sure.”
I nod, not knowing what else to do. I just want him to keep talking, to tell me more about my mother.
He continues. “One day, my father brought me to the side, loaded a gun and slid it across his desk toward me. He said, ‘Landon, today is the day you prove that you’re the worthy son. The next in line to become king of the estate.’ I didn’t know what he was talking about. I was only sixteen. Holding a gun at that age, and given my time to shine, I was up for anything.”
He stands and runs his hand over his head, giving it that messy look. “He took me to your mother’s apartment, not far from where you live now.” Landon shoots me a quick glance before he stares out the window, placing his hands in his jeans pockets. “When we entered, Maria was frantic, sweating even. But man, she was truly beautiful.” He whips his head around and smirks at me, like he is staring at my mother again. I close my eyes, tears threatening to spill as he continues.
“She screamed for us to leave, that she wasn’t returning to the estate. My father roared that she was his indefinitely since she was pregnant with his child. She got this evil look across her face and said she had an abortion.” Landon steps over to me and squats in front of me again, my hands digging into the sheets the more he tells me what happened that day. A piece of me still doesn’t want to know.
“I’ve never seen my father so angry. He was blistering red, his body shaking with rage. He lashed out at her, told her an Evans would never roam this Earth again. That she killed his seed, and he’d see to it that her DNA never disgraced this Earth with its presence, starting with her. That’s when something caught the corner of my eye.” He grabs my clawing hand from the sheet and squeezes it. My heart races and sweat is forming on my forehead. It’s like watching a movie, the climax happening right before you that has you by the seat of your pants. You know it’s going to end badly, but yet you sit there watching with a racing heart.
“I saw you hiding under the table, looking right at your mother, fear written across your face like you’d just realized the devil was real. I saw my father reach behind him, going for his gun while walking toward Maria. If he made it just one step more, he would have seen you, Charlie, and not only killed your mother, but I know he would have killed you, too. So I did what I thought was right at the age of sixteen. I pulled my gun out, stepped in front of the table you were hiding under, blocking you from my father’s view, and…” He pauses, squeezing my hand harder. “I shot your mother.”
I pull my hand from his, a sob escaping my mouth as I stand. My body thunders with blistering rage, and I feel like I might vomit. I cover my mouth with the back of my hand and close my eyes. My mother flashes behind my eyelids, then ominous wings.
“Nobody even knew Maria had a kid,” he mumbles. Knowing my mother protected me from the estate when I was a child causes admiration to bubble in my chest. I wonder if she feared Miller, or if she knew he was capable of evil. I bet that’s why she aborted his unborn child.
“The tattoo on your back, I saw it that day. But I don’t remember how.”
“When I stepped up to block you, it made me closer to your mother. Blood splattered on me, and Father told me to take my shirt off and wipe my face with it. Our car was parked right outside, so nobody would notice if I was wearing a shirt or not. So I took it off, cleaned myself, and we left.”
I shake my head, not wanting to believe anything he’s saying.
“Do you know what kind of Hell you put me in? What life you placed in my hands?” I yell, pointing at him with resentment.
He stomps forward, his jaw ticking as he grabs me by the shoulders. “I fucking saved you. If it weren’t for me, your shitty life wouldn’t have ever happened.
“In fact, I’ve been saving your ass since the day I saw you hiding under that table. If I wasn’t in that alley, who knows what those college pricks would’ve done to you. Taking you from Mick, taking you off the streets, all of it.” He waves his hand in front of his face as he continues to justify his actions. “I don’t know what else you want from me,” he mumbles, his head hung low.
“Knowing the truth, knowing that my mother is really dead – it hurts.” I sob.
He grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me into him, hugging me. His arms are strong as he cocoons me into his taut chest.
“I just can’t believe you somehow made it back to me,” he mutters into the top of my head. “I went back when I could, but you were already gone.”
I close my eyes and fist his shirt, images of cops and first responders popping behind my eyelids. The looks on their faces when they found me under that table. How I wouldn’t talk to any of them, or let them touch me. The ride in the back of an ambulance with a gray wool blanket wrapped around me as they took me to the hospital, and eventually to the psych ward. I open my eyes, and I can’t decide if I’m angry, hurt, or grateful. I have a right to all of those feelings, but they’re all swirling inside of me at the same time, making me feel dizzy.